Red Hot Luvin'
by NightsDawne
Summary: YAOI: Cupid's Trio, sort of: I'm almost ashamed this was actually written, but you asked for it! The story of Zell after he became SeeD commander at G Garden. A follow-up to Ride 'Em, Cowboy! Mostly lime, completely twisted.


Red Hot Luvin'  
by NightsDawne

[Okay, it was hinted that some of you wanted to know what happened to Zell after the famous incident in Seifer's shower with.. um, the weenie. Here you go, a Ride 'Em, Cowboy follow-up short for you sick and twisted people! Disclaimer: Squaresoft owns Zell. No sausages were harmed in the writing of this story. The author claims no responsibility for loss of appetite as a result of reading this story. You don't need all those nitrates anyhow.]

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Zell finished arranging things on his desk. A photo of him, Seifer, and Squall, which had once had Irvine in it, but the cowboy had been conveniently snipped out. His baby high tops, bronzed. And his prized plastic miniature Oscar Mayer Weenie Car. There, the new SeeD commander of Galbadia Garden was in business. He flopped down in his leather swivel chair and kicked his feet up on the desk. "Yeah! Commander Dincht!" He squinted at his wooden name placard, suddenly realizing it read 'Commander Dinchy'. "THEY MISSPELLED MY NAME!!" He gave the placard a violent toss off of his desk, wincing as it crashed through his office window. He dropped his head on the desk with a sob. It hadn't been this hard for Squall, had it? He was a SeeD commander, he deserved a little respect.

"Commander Dinchy?"

"IT'S DINCHT! DINCHT!" Zell scowled at the intruder, a uniformed cadet who shrank back in the doorway. "What is it?"

"Um, I brought you the roster, sir." The cadet held out a clipboard.

"Oh, cool!" Zell hopped up, stepping over to snatch the clipboard and read it over. "HA! I'VE GOT MORE SEEDS THAN SQUALL! WOOHOO!" He spun in a circle, pumping his fist in the air.

The cadet backed up further. "Yes, sir. Galbadia is a larger Garden than Balamb, sir. Will you want lunch brought to your office, sir?"

"Huh?" Zell looked over at the retreating student. "Nah. Hey, I wanna mix with the regulars and all. They do have hot dogs here, don't they?"

"Yes, sir, the best, sir."

"BOOYA!" Zell tossed the clipboard onto his desk and strode out of his office. "Get me a table, kid. What's your name?"

"Albert, sir."

"Albert what?"

"No, sir, Albert's my last name. My first name is Kurt."

Zell held out his hand as he walked. "Nice to meet you, Kurt. I'm Zell."

"Yes, sir, Commander Dinchy.. uh, Dincht."

Zell's shoulders slumped slightly. He was going to have to make sure people got his name right, and fast. It wouldn't do to be called Dinky when he was only 5'5. "Table, Kurt, table."

Kurt saluted quickly and ran ahead towards the cafeteria. "Yes, sir!"

Zell shadowboxed a bit to cheer himself before resuming his swagger down the corridor. He could smell the hot dogs already. If anything, they smelled better than the ones at Balamb Garden. By the time he strolled into the huge cafeteria he was wearing a grin the size of a foot-long, with just a hint of deviant quirk to it. The line of students and SeeDs waiting for lunch parted before the commander and he contentedly strolled up to the front, leaning his elbow on the counter and crossing one foot over the other. "I'll take six."

"Six, sir?" The lunch lady raised her brow.

"For starters. I'll send for the rest when I've got those down. Like to keep them hot."

The lunch lady pursed her lips, but dutifully loaded up six plump hot dogs on a plate and slid them across to Zell, who picked up the tray, inhaling the steam like an addict. "OH YEAH!" He turned with the culinary treasure, spotting Kurt waving his arm across the room. He balanced the plate in one hand, shoving a hot dog in his mouth as he strode to his table. "MM-MMM!" He plopped down in a chair, grabbing the ketchup bottle in one hand and the mustard in the other, tossing them in the air and catching them upside down with the expertise of a frankfurter master and garnished his remaining dogs with five deft swipes. Kurt looked on in pure amazement. Zell favored the cadet with a thumbs up before settling to two-fisted consumption of his beloved favorite food. He was stuffing the last one in his mouth before his lungs insisted on their turn with bodily function and inhaled, sending him into a spasm of choking. Kurt hurried around his chair and performed the Heimlich maneuver, launching an inch long bite of hot dog across the room to land in a female cadet's steamed veggie platter.

Zell punched his chest a bit and gave a few more hacks, then sat up. "Damn, those are good! Second serving!" He waved Kurt towards the lunch counter.

"Sir? You want more?" Kurt frowned in concern.

"OH YEAH!" Zell beamed, cracking his knuckles and leaning back in his chair, balanced on two legs. "I'm just getting started, kiddo." Kurt blinked, but scurried for the lunch counter to get another half dozen franks.

He shattered the school record that first day. Twenty-four wonderous weenies in one sitting. He was going to like his new job.

Galbadia Garden's new commander tossed and turned in his bed. He was homesick. He missed being able to watch Squall, the beautiful commander of Balamb Garden who'd been his fantasy man since puberty hit, even if Squall's only acknowledgements of his existance were attempts to extract himself from any sort of contact with Zell. He missed Seifer, too, who, up until that Irvine Kinneas guy had always been at least willing to get off with him. He in no way missed Irvine Kinneas. The gunslinger with the perfect ass had waltzed into Balamb Garden like boybait and swept both Squall and Seifer off their feet, leaving Zell with nothing. Nothing! It wasn't fair at all. But things were going to be different here at Galbadia Garden. There was no Irvine Kinneas, here. Sure, he'd grown up here, but he'd been a ladies' man at the time. Obviously someone in denial. His only reputation with the men of Galbadia Garden was the last guy you wanted to see talking to your girlfriend. Zell sighed, punching his pillow into shape. On top of everything else, he was hungry.

It was the hunger that drove him to pull on his raver shorts and make his way for the cafeteria at first. Sure, he could always get a few extra franks to help handle the loneliness, but those he'd sneak back to his room. Few people knew the extent of his love for hot dogs, but he didn't see what was so strange about it. Round, firm, plump, just the right shape. They called them weenies for God's sake! He'd often found himself having to tug his shorts down and head for the showers when people mentioned bun-lengths in his presence. There was nothing wrong with a good red hot.

The cafeteria was closed, so he let himself into the kitchen through the service hall. He was the SeeD commander, what were they going to do about it? It took him only a brief search of the walk-in refrigerator to find a package of love waiting for a bun and he cradled the shrink-wrapped pack to his chest as he bounced out to the stove. "Just you and me, my sweet hotties, just you and me." He paused, kissing the pack, feeling the cool gush of hot dog juice sloshing under the plastic. Who could survive without nature's perfect food?!

Clasping the package of cold meaty goodness to his cheek he fired up the grill, then laid the package on the counter, picking up a knife and slicing it open slowly. He had to be careful lest he spear one of his little buddies. Hot dogs were tender little souls. Too much abuse and they'd just refuse to plump. He laid out six weiners, making sure they had the perfect thirty degree slant against the rack, then stepped back. Two doggies left in the package, swimming in their own lucious juices. They were calling to him, poor lonely guys. "It's okay, jumbo babies, Zelly's here for ya!" He scooped them out of the pack, slurping them clean one at a time, moaning at the satisfaction of his aching addiction.

Jeffrie, the cafeteria chef, paused in the doorway of the kitchen. A young man was at the grill in spite of the lateness of the hour. Blond hair stuck up straight in a gravity defying swoop like a chocobo crest. Bare chest and arms revealed the well-defined musculature of a fighter, probably one who didn't need a weapon beyond his fists. Blue denim raver shorts dropped to his knees, displaying a pair of calves that looked as though a single kick could send a grown man flying. Red high top sneakers seemed to be the footwear of choice. A distinct stylized tattoo ran from the man's temple to his chin along the right side of his face, this distinguishing feature identifying him as the Garden's new SeeD commander, Zell Dinchy. It was what the commander was doing, however, that caused the chef to hesitate. He appeared to be eating an uncooked hot dog. No, wait, he wasn't eating it. Jeffrie raised a brow slowly as the hot dog slid back out of the commander's mouth unharmed, held at one end by caressing fingertips. Not a single toothmark on that dog. That took some talent. Jeffrie watched as the commander's other hand, also clutching a raw dog, slid down to his fly. Jeffrie had an intimate knowledge of food, that being his job, but he'd never witnessed anything such as this. Jeffrie looked behind him, a little unsure about what was going on, then looked back to the commander, who had his head tipped back, the dog sliding back through his waiting lips, soft whimpers escaping him. The chef dropped his eyes down to the nether dog, which was getting itself a warming against the unzipped crotch of the commander. Jeffrie's mind reeled for a moment and he coughed lightly.

The commander whirled around, cheeks turning red as he slapped his hands over his open fly, sucking in his breath at the surprise of being caught. His sparkling blue eyes bulged and he bowed forward a bit, raising one hand to point at his throat. "Commander Dinchy?!" Jeffrie stepped forward in alarm. The commander pointed at his throat again, starting to turn blue. Jeffrie ran to leap behind him, wrapping his arms around the commander's stomach and balling his fists above his navel, then jerked upwards three times forcefully. The commander gagged, then blew out his cheeks as the hot dog flew out of his mouth, bouncing across the stove to roll onto the grill. Jeffrie smacked the gasping commander's back. "Are you alright?"

"Dincht. It's Dincht. Um... I can explain." The blue was quickly switching back to red as the commander hurriedly zipped up his shorts.

"Um, you really don't have to." Jeffrie's own cheeks were picking up a bit of a blush.

"I don't want you to get the wrong idea." Zell sighed, realizing there right idea was probably worse. His shoulders slumped, his head dropping forward against his chest. "I'm so homesick. I miss Squall!" He turned, sagging dejectedly against the chef. "I'm so lonely!"

Jeffrie ran through his mental inventory to see if there was some Garden rule about commanders on the verge of tears, but he came up blank. Sighing, he slid his arms around the young man and patted his shoulder comfortingly. "There there, it's alright. Squall is your boyfriend?"

"He was supposed to be." A sob escaped Zell and he clung to the chef. "It's all the fault of that Irvine Kinneas guy!"

Jeffrie sucked in his breath. Well, he'd heard that plenty of times before, although never when the rivalry was over another man. It would just figure that the gallavanting gunslinger couldn't keep his wandering hands off of the men. He'd probably run out of women to chase at small Balamb Garden after a week. "I understand. You're hardly the first man to be beaten to the shot by that hot trigger." Jeffrie instinctively reached around the commander to turn the hot dogs, then patted his shoulder again. "We'll just get you fed, make it all better, Commander."

"Zell, my name's Zell." Zell sighed, resting his cheek against the chef's white uniform. It held the scent of thousands of grilled franks, each one plumped to loving perfection. "Everyone calls Squall by his first name."

Jeffrie twitched slightly as Zell's poufy hairstyle tickled his nose. "Zell, then, if you prefer it. And.. if you want to you can call me Jeffrie."

"Jeffrie..." Zell smiled, snuggling his arms around the chef's waist, which felt firm enough. Obviously even the cafeteria staff spent time in the Garden's gym. "You smell yummy."

Jeffrie blinked a bit, glancing to the side. Well, strange or no, the commander was a cute little thing with those apple cheeks and bright blue eyes. And he was lonely. It just wouldn't be hygenic for his kitchen if he left the poor boy with nothing but hot dogs for companionship. "Well, thank you." He gave Zell a little kiss on the cheek. "You taste like ketchup."

"There's mustard on the other side." Zell grinned coyly and turned to offer his other cheek. Jeffrie chuckled a bit and gave it a kiss as well. Zell turned again, catching the chef a little off guard and kissing him fully on the lips. Jeffrie returned it, pulling Zell close.

"Zell?" Jeffrie pulled his head back, looking down into those sparkling blue eyes. "The hot dogs are burning."


End file.
